


She fell in love the way one falls asleep, slowly and then all at once

by cesttoiquivois



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28530558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cesttoiquivois/pseuds/cesttoiquivois
Summary: She doesn't mean to kiss him.It's cliché. Principal and bodyguard. Shacking up.But she's terrified and in his embrace, she forgets just how much.
Relationships: David Budd & Julia Montague, David Budd/Julia Montague
Comments: 12
Kudos: 94





	She fell in love the way one falls asleep, slowly and then all at once

**Author's Note:**

> "[...] I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once." ― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

I.

She doesn't mean to kiss him when she leans against him, seeking refuge in his arms. 

But she’s scared, exhausted, angry and his body against her, warm and comforting feels so perfectly right. 

She doesn't mean to kiss him. 

It's cliché. Principal and bodyguard. Shacking up. 

She would be dead if it weren't for him. 

She remembers it well. Him, holding her hand in the car, assuring her that it would be alright. That _she_ would be alright. 

She would be dead if it weren't for him. No one would have entered the square to save her. They would have left her there to die, ignoring her screams and the shots firing until one wrong move had been fatal. 

She doesn't mean to kiss him. It's terribly cliché. But she's terrified and in his embrace, she forgets just how much. 

So, she tilts her head towards him and presses her eyes shut. Her heart beats fast and she’s unsure if it comes from the lingering adrenaline or from something entirely different. 

She feels his breath on her lips. She hesitates. Wonders what he might think of her – if he'll push her away.

She hesitates but his breath grows warmer, closer. Her lips part, tentatively, searching for his. 

They kiss. 

Slowly, timidly, briefly. 

She holds her breath, afraid that it might bring her back to a reality she’s desperate to escape. But the loss only intensifies their desire for the other and when the air finally comes out of their lungs it's swallowed back into another kiss.

They kiss. 

This time with longing and passion. 

Lust fills their bodies as they melt in each other's embrace. Hands find their way on the other's body, exploring it carefully, chastely. Cheeks are bright pink, skin tingling, burning hot. Moans and gasps, the only music to their slow dance. 

She doesn't mean to kiss him let alone have sex with him but the second her lips closed around his she knew she would be leading him to her bedroom. 

Well, _the_ bedroom. Not hers. Because she isn't allowed back in her home. Because she's no longer safe. Because a lunatic fired shots at her. Her eyes water, and she finds herself gingerly grabbing the wrist cuff of his shirt. 

They arrive in the bedroom. 

It's dark safe for the lights outside seeping through the curtains. She doesn't mind, unsure she wants him to see her. 

God, does she want him to see her? Does she want him to touch her? She hasn't been intimate with someone in some time. It comes with the job. It comes with the divorce. She never minded it terribly, except some lonely nights. But this – this feels new. She feels shy.

She looks up into his eyes, trying to decipher his thoughts but as she came to realise quite early on, he doesn't show much. 

She bites her lower lip, nibbles on it. It's a bad idea.

“I – Maybe I should – Give me a minute, will you?”

He looks at her quizzically but nods. She gives him a small smile before disappearing in the bathroom.

It's a bad idea. The whole thing. A horrid idea that will end poorly.

She looks at her reflection in the mirror. She touches her lips, swollen and red, with the tip of her fingers. 

It's a horrid idea. Still, she undresses herself, piece by piece. Still, she grabs the razor by the side of the sink.

She finds him looking at the window. His shoulders down a bit. He seems unsure and she wonders if he's pondering escaping – through that window, perhaps. She pondered, at least ten times in the last ten minutes, asking him to leave so she can’t blame him.

Still, she’s shaved and feels a little less coy and the bathrobe she swapped her clothes for, if not the sexiest, sends a clear enough message. 

She calls his name. David (slash Dave). David. She likes David better. He faces her and with one step forward, she invites him back into her space, into her arms.

They make love. Urgently. Passionately. His cock thrusts inside her, hard and thick. He grunts. She gasps, grabs onto his shirt, digging her nails through the fabric. He holds her hand down, kisses her messily. Her knees buck against his waist, pushing his pants down effectively. He moves faster inside her, eager, close. She, too, is close and the first to climax, eyes shut, mouth agape, breath short. He comes soon after, collapsing on top of her.

They stay like this for a bit, catching their breath, slowly coming back to their senses. 

Then, she slides her feet down, straightening her legs and allowing him to free himself. He does so and lies next to her. 

And back the coyness is.

She does not think it's conscious. She isn't even sure why she does it but slowly, she finds herself moving away from him, holding the pans of her bathrobe shut. 

They stay as such for a while. Unable to make eye contact. Him on one side of the bed. Her on the other. Until she slides off the mattress and silently makes her way to the bathroom. She closes the door behind her. 

It was a horrid idea. No matter how good it felt to let go for a bit. No matter how right it felt to listen to her body instead of her brain.

She feels his sperm on her thighs, and she sighs. It was a horrid idea. 

Yet, when she is cleaned up and sat on the toilet, wondering how to go back out and face him, she can't help but feel a slight disappointment weaving through the relief upon hearing the front door opening and closing.

II.

She's not ready to see him. 

Yet, on her way to the Home Office for the first time since the attack, she can't help but wish he were here. 

She's not ready to see him but the anxiety that rises in her chest as she fastens the seat belt makes it hard not to want to. 

He's not on duty today and PC Knowles is more than capable. But he – He knows. He was there. He held her. He protected her. She feels _safer_ when he is by her side. 

She hasn't slept in the past 24 hours. 

The doctor ordered her to take a few days off, but one was enough to make her fly off the handle. She couldn't stand it. Every second spent alone in that bloody hotel room a reminder of what happened.

She hasn't slept. She's tried. But every attempt at eye-shutting was met with fear and horror and brains blown apart. 

She hasn't slept. She's scared and needs to keep busy. 

So, she's on her way back to work, back to doing what she does best. It doesn't matter the anxiety. It doesn't matter the troubled breathing. It doesn't matter the tug in her chest every time she looks in the rear-view mirror and doesn't see him. 

She must make do. She must be strong and hold her head high. She must show just how indestructible she is. She doesn't need him for that. 

Yet, she wishes he were here, by her side. 

It's been three days since the attack, and when she opens the door to the hotel's corridor, it's him she finds on the other side. 

The relief she feels in her chest is just as hard to ignore as the butterflies in her lower belly. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep the smile covert. 

“Hello Sergeant Budd,” she greets him, her voice, she hopes, neutral.

“Ma'am.”

She feels safer when he is with her and the drive to the Home Office proves just how much. Every time she looks up in the mirror and catches his eyes proves just how much. 

So, when she gets a phone call informing her that “PS Budd will, for now, be staying at the Blackwood, in an adjoining room”, she ascribes the slight lull in her heart and the mellow thrill that quickly follows to that: _sense of security_. Her teeth sink in her lip.

That night, she firmly intends for the goodnight bid to be one. 

She firmly intends to head straight to the tub with a glass of wine and some files she needs to attend to. It doesn’t matter if her night is sleepless. It doesn’t matter that he is _so_ close. She firmly intends to spend the evening _alone._

However, as she throws her coat on the couch, she finds herself drawn to the door separating her from him. Like iron to magnet. Like moth to flame.

He makes the first move. She hears his side open. 

She hesitates. Her heart beats fast. She runs her fingers into her hair, eyes the lever. She breathes out, bites her lip, turns the lock. She feels hot. Excited. Guarded. Raring with anticipation but filled with timidity – She feels excitingly guarded and timidly raring. 

He stands behind the door. They face each other. Silently. Tension so thick, it weighs on her shoulders. 

He makes the first move. She is resigned. Powerless. She wants him. They both give in. 

They kiss. His hands on her back, then her hips, pushing her against him. Hers on his cheeks, then his chest, pulling him towards her. He’s growing against her. She feels hot and sticky. She wants him. Badly. 

They kiss and it’s messy, heated, sloppy, rough. He walks her back into the sideboard, pushes her against the wood. She moans, breathless, gasps when he slides his tongue inside her mouth. She sucks on it. He grips the back of her head, slips one hand underneath her shirt. Her skin burns in response. Each touched spot becoming sensitive, hungry for more. She bites his lip. He groans, hardens. 

They kiss. His lips on her neck, sucking, nipping. Hers, on his shoulders, sucking, nipping. She steps out of her heels, kicks them. She unfastens the buttons of his shirt, slides it off his shoulders, runs her hands on his bare arms. His hands, in turn, find the button of her trousers, the zipper and within a second, she’s bare-legged and sat on the sideboard. She welcomes him between her legs. He unzips his own trousers, tug at her knickers, rubs her. 

“My job,” she breathes. “Your job. It just complicates everything.”

He slides inside her. She gasps. 

“Nothing complicates my job –” 

He thrusts inside her. She gasps. 

“– It’s to protect you.”

She grabs onto him. Hands pressed flat on his back; ankles looped around his legs. They fuck. So hard. So deliciously. Her heart beats fast. She feels alive. She buries her moans and cries in the nape of his neck. Eyes shut, breathing elective. Her sex tightens around him as he pushes inside her, until, finally, they both come, knackered. 

She firmly intended to spend the evening alone.

Yet, when they finally part, knickers back in place, penis back in pants, and compose themselves, she surprises herself by asking him if he’d like to stay. She’s even more surprised when he agrees. 

That night, she firmly intended to spend the evening alone, but instead she let him fuck her on the sideboard, drank an obscene amount of wine while he gulped down three beers, laughed, and shared maybe a bit too much. 

That night, she firmly intended to spend the evening alone, but instead she made love to him once – and twice – until she fell asleep, sated. 

III.

They spent the past two nights together and she liked it. 

The door separating their adjoining rooms is almost always open, unless they’re out or she’s in a meeting and working on sensitive material, but knowing he’s there, close, still makes her smile absentmindedly, still makes her heart flutter with excitement. 

They spent the past two nights together, and each time she found herself looking forward to it. Especially when she’s in her last meeting for the day, so close to heading back to the hotel if only Mike would bloody stop gabbing and looking at her like an abandoned puppy. 

Today is no different. She tries her best not to glance through the glass door. She tries her best not to search for _his_ eyes as Stephen speaks. She tries her best not to crave too much for him. But, still, she very much looks forward to tonight. 

It’s not just the sex, although brilliant, she enjoys. She likes his company and chatting with him. She likes falling asleep next to him although she’s certain he, himself, doesn’t do much of that. She likes their subtle banter, his smirk when he thinks he’s won, his pout when he realises he’s not. She likes when they touch accidentally. She likes when they touch purposely. Oh, and she likes hearing him call her Julia –

The first time he did so was last night. It slipped out when he called her from the kitchenette to ask if she’d like a glass of red or white.

He apologised quickly, correcting himself back into a “Ma’am”, and she laughed.

“Don’t you think you’ve seen enough of me to call me by my first name,” she offered, bemused. He blushed. So did she. “I give you full permission to call me Julia when it’s just the two of us,” she appealed before wrapping her arms around him, kissing his jaw, and whispering “Red” in his ears.

It’s not just the sex she enjoys. Although she very much does so, lying on the yellow chair in the bedroom, him face down in between her legs. 

She's awoken by the sun shyly sneaking in the bedroom. 

It's a rare occurrence to have it out so early this time of the year. It's even rarer to have it rising before she, herself, is up.

She sleeps well nowadays. She sleeps very well.

– Unlike him.

He is awake. It’s no surprise. He doesn’t sleep much, she knows. He doesn’t sleep at all sometimes. 

She runs a finger on his naked chest, tracing a path towards his clavicle then back down to his heart. She rests her hand there, closing her eyes, lulled by the regular beat. 

He is awake. It’s no surprise and she can’t help but wonder if it’s discomfort he feels in her bed. 

He turns to face her, his own hand now grasping hers. He is awake. It’s no surprise. But, as he draws the sheet over them, thus creating the perfect bubble to protect them from the world, she forgets the slight insecurity she sometimes feels when she’s with him.

“Did you sleep well?” He asks, pulling her close. 

“I did,” she replies, wrapping a leg around his waist. “And you? Did you sleep? At all?”

“Aye.” 

“Are you lying?” 

“No,” he chuckles. “I slept a bit here and there.” 

“I'm sorry you can't sleep. The shooting probably didn't help.”

Recalling it makes her shiver. 

Recalling it makes her angry. 

Recalling it makes her feel guilty.

“It’s not your fault, Julia.”

“He was after me. This man – this Andy Apsted, it’s me he wanted dead and you and Terry, and you –” 

Her voice falters. 

“My job is to protect you.”

“No matter the risks,” she snickers wryly, more to herself.

“It's what I do. You have to trust me.” 

She does. She trusts him more than most. In fact, she trusts only him. But this, she keeps to herself. This, she keeps in her heart, unsure she wants to reveal its content. Unsure, as of yet, of what it holds.

Her hand glides on his chest, then rests on his side. She feels the burnt skin under her palm. He flinches. She looks down and back into his eyes. 

“Do you mind?”

“It’s alright.”

She gives him a small smile and looks back down, drawing the scarred pattern with light fingers. 

“How long were you in the Army?” She asks.

“Ten years.”

“Is that what you always wanted to do?” 

“You’ll probably laugh but when I was in school, I wanted to be a doctor.”

“I’m not laughing,” she assures, with a smile. “What happened?”

“To get into medical school, you need work experience. How do you get that? By knowing a doctor who can get you in,” he explains. “I had no idea where to start so... I never applied.”

He’s bitter, she can tell. She, herself, feels quite sorry about it. She knows the state of this country’s postgraduate education system and the career opportunities – or rather lack thereof – awaiting those who manage to get in let alone those who don’t simply due to some nonsensical rules of admission. 

She glances back at the scars. And the result is _this_. 

“They don’t hurt?” 

“Not now,” he replies but, still, he twitches slightly under her touch. “I’m one of the lucky ones.”

“Because you survived?” 

His smirk is surprising but when the cheeky “Aye, that too” rolls on his tongue, she smiles in turn, her heart fluttering. 

She kisses him, soundly, eyes shut, lingering just a few seconds more than necessary. 

“Even if it could cost me my job,” he whispers when they part.

“Mmm. Sex with the Home Secretary. It’s a heinous crime.”

They laugh and she moves closer to him, the heel of her foot digging into his arse. 

She’d stay here all day and more if it weren’t for her mobile phone ringing, if it weren’t for duty. Under that sheet, in this private cocoon, engulfed in his scent, enveloped by his arms. She’d stay here all day and more, if she'd listen to the quiet voice coming from her ever unlocking heart. 

She’d stay here all day and more, and just be, with him, Julia and David.

IV.

They’re professionals. 

She’s the Home Secretary. He’s her PPO and they greet each other as such in front of the RPO.

They’re professionals. She’s back to being “Ma’am”. He’s back to being “Sergeant Budd” and they walk down the corridor as such. 

But, upon arriving on the hotel’s underground floor, she realises that she needs to be Julia and him David just for one more moment. So, she makes up an excuse. So, she tricks him into the ladies’ and plants a hard one on his lips. 

At first, he’s taken aback but soon he mellows under her touch. They snog for a few minutes, chastely so they don’t look too dishevelled when they emerge back out. However, the temptation to forget all sense of decency and have him take her right here isn’t exactly that far from her mind. 

At first, he’s taken aback but soon he mellows under her touch until she must break it off.

They stay close however, their nose touching, their parted lips still enticed. She looks into his eyes, intensely, sincerely and decides to show a tiny piece of her heart. 

“I know you’ll never let anything bad happen to me” is how she chooses to phrase it. An answer, she hopes, to their earlier conversation. An admission, she hopes, that yes, in fact, she trusts him. 

She grins softly and kisses him one more time before she goes to the mirror and makes sure she looks presentable. _Professional_. 

Yes, she needed to be Julia and him David just for one more minute. One more minute before stepping back into reality.

And back to reality they are. 

He’s agitated, she can tell. 

From the second she stepped out of the Home Office and saw him standing by her car, she knew something was bothering him. 

In appearance, nothing seemed much different in his demeanour, in his nonpartisan “Ma’am” but she starts to know him better. 

He doesn’t share a lot with her. He doesn’t share much of his thoughts and struggles with many, she reckons. He keeps it in most of the time but it’s not hard to guess the battles he fights internally. 

She never pushes. She lets him choose when to let her in and how much, just like he did this morning. 

Still, she asks. Still, she hopes he'll accept the hand she’s extending. Still, she gives him one and more opportunities to tell her, to let her in, and when he finally does, she wishes he didn’t. 

There are many reasons why she can’t tell him how she knew the name of his children’s school. There are many reasons why she wishes she could. Because, as much as she trusts him, completely, she’s positive he is not there yet with her. She’s positive he might never be and withholding that information, lying so blatantly to him – he is not an idiot – isn’t helping her case. 

So, she simply dismisses him, blames work and fatigue, and ignores the strife in her stomach as the hours pass by and the urge to knock on his door and tell him everything increases.

There are many reasons why she can’t tell him the truth. There are also many reasons why she probably will. 

The following day is horrendous and seems never-ending. 

He is off for most of it and when he finally shows up to start his shift, she doesn’t even notice his presence until she finally leaves the meeting room and heads to her office, Stephen following in toe. However, she doesn’t so much as glance at him, too preoccupied by what’s been discussed. Too preoccupied by what’s about to be. 

The drive back to the hotel is just as quiet and it only occurs to her that she hasn’t uttered a single word to him when they find themselves alone in the lift. 

Her intention is to break the tension, but it turns out that even trained politicians can skilfully put their foot in it with words poorly chosen. 

“I’m sorry about last night – I was snowed under. I’ve got a couple of hours of work to do and then I’ll give you a knock.”

“Like I’m room service.”

The deadpanned response falls as the lift chimes their arrival on the top floor and he steps out of the box.

Her intention is to break the tension but as it happens, instead, he takes offense and leaves her remorseful. 

The remorse is however soon replaced by slight irritation. She ponders just leaving him be if that’s what he wants but, to no one’s surprise, the desire to make things right outweighs her exasperation. So, she knocks on the door and doesn’t wait for his answer to open it. 

He takes his time to appear in sight. She rolls her eyes, a hand leaning on the door stile. Yet, when he finally stands before her, she can’t help but feel relieved. 

“I think you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

He gives her an understated nod for only response, his expression still bitter. 

“Please don’t turn out to be yet another bloke who can’t accept a woman having more power,” she asks and with her entire being, she hopes he won’t because she had and dealt with that. Because it was hell – still is – and she doesn’t want anything that even remotely resembles it. 

They stay silent for a bit. 

“We’re not handling this very well, are we?” she concedes.

He shakes his head, muttering a “no”. 

“It’s me. It’s my fault,” he apologises. “I never expected –”

“Well, neither did I.”

Silence falls between them again and she wishes they could go back to yesterday, under the sheet, giggling and snogging without a care in the world. 

Her intention was to break the tension and it still very much is. So, she steps back from the door and walks towards her bedroom. She faces him and leans on the doorframe, throwing him a look, she hopes, conveys what she has in mind and on the off chance it doesn’t, she unbuttons her trousers, tug them slightly and slips a hand inside her knickers. 

She tenses up, touching herself the way she wants him to touch her. 

“This your way of kidding me I’m more in control?”

She feels herself growing hot at the sound of his teasing words, at the sound of his voice low. 

“You see right through me.” 

She bites her lip and disappears into the room where she lies on the bed, trousers off, hand buried inside her. He arrives soon after and just like a wish granted, he takes off her knickers and replaces her fingers with his. 

He fucks her. 

First with his fingers. Slow but committed. He rubs, thrusts in and out, adds more fingers, pinches. She squirms, gasps, arches. He gazes at her, pupils so dark they’re frightening. 

He fucks her. 

Then with his mouth. She barely has time to recover for his precedent ordeal that he’s already applying expert suctions on her sex. She bucks against him, legs wrapped around his shoulders, hands holding his head down. She cries, moans his name, her breathing so jerky, she heaves with every raised chest. 

He fucks her. 

With his cock. Finally. After, she gave him a well-deserved blowjob that didn’t quite make him reach his climax but was ample to make him frustrated enough to ravish her senseless. She drapes her arms and legs around him, envelops him with her whole body as he plunges, balls deep inside her until she clenches enough to make him come with one last thrust. 

She isn’t sure how long they stay like this, him still inside her, her still wrapped around him. 

She isn’t sure she’s even still capable of moving after that. 

She feels him shift on top of her, planting a soft kiss in her neck before whispering “I don’t want to crush you.”

He has a point. His weight on her is becoming heavier. So, she lets go reluctantly. He lies next to her, on his side and she humours him. For a moment, they’re Julia and David. Back under the sheet. Caressed by the morning light. 

“I’m sorry I was a twat earlier.”

“All is forgiven,” is her answer. 

They smile and he leans in for a kiss. 

A few minutes pass and they fall into a pleasant stillness, lulled solely by the sound of their breathing. 

He’s the first to break the bubble and although she wishes he hadn’t, she knows he’s right. 

“I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

“– I actually do need to work, you're right,” she says with a sigh. “I wish you could stay but it’s… a bit sensitive. Do you mind?”

He shakes his head, rubbing his nose against hers as he does so. 

“It’s alright. I’ll try calling the kids. See if they’re still awake.”

“If – if that’s okay, I can give you a knock when I’m done. If you want to spend the night here.”

He’s the first to break the bubble and although she wishes he hadn’t, as he smiles at her and kisses her soundly, she knows they will be alright. 

It’s around a box of fish and chips that they meet again, and she can’t help but smile to herself at the memory of their first shared chips. 

The conversation is light and happy as they recount some childhood memories. 

She talks about her mother, still living in her childhood home, back in Cheltenham. She talks about her father, her biggest supporter until the very end. 

“He was extremely ill in the end so him going was almost a relief. But I still miss him. He used to have all the answers and sometimes, I wish I could still run to him for guidance.”

He talks about his parents. They still live in Scotland. He hasn’t seen much of them since – _he came back from the war_ – but they phone each other. 

She wishes she could stop herself from asking. She wishes she could simply enjoy the peacefulness of the moment. But she knows David’s opinions on her politics and sometimes – sometimes, she wonders if in the end their differences will prevail. 

So, she asks. 

“How do they feel about your job? PPO – of a Tory?”

“They understand it’s my job,” he says simply. 

“How would they feel about you sleeping with one?”

“I think, in the end, they'd want me to be happy.”

_Are you? Happy?_

“Right.” She clears her throat and slaps her thighs. “How about some shut-eye? I’m knackered.”

She knows there is still much to say. 

She knows their differences as well as their similarities could very well be their downfall. 

She will have to tell him how she got her intel on his children’s school. She will have to give him an explanation if she wants this... _them_ to work. 

She knows there is still much to say. But, for now, she’s content with a night sleep in his arms. For now, she’s content with waking up to his scent on her sheet.

V.

She falls asleep in his arms but wakes cold and alone. 

The “You're the only one I trust” came out sooner than it should, and she wishes it didn't. Because the timing was poorly chosen. Because she fears he'll think she only said it to get her way.

He agreed to her terms, however. Reluctantly. But he agreed and she promised herself to thank him properly when it was over. 

And thanking him, she did. 

She falls asleep in his arms but when she wakes, he's gone.

She's confused at first. But, quickly, confusion makes way for fear. Confusion makes way for worry. 

Is it a one-time thing or a recurring one? Did she upset him with her under the radar – admittedly questionable – night escapades? Or is he _truly_ that uncomfortable in her bed? 

She falls asleep in his arms. Yet, she wakes alone, still dishevelled from their shagging and very much unnerved. 

She worries it’s not the first time he leaves her in the middle of the night. 

She wanders in her suite, calling his name. She tells herself he is probably in for a wee and when that proves not to be the case, that he probably woke up for a grub. 

But the dining room is empty and so is the kitchenette and the living room. So, she heads towards the next logical room: his. 

She's more hurt than angry but when her eyes fall on to his sleeping body, peacefully lying on his bed, it all goes away.

He is handsome. 

It's no secret. She’s noticed from their first meeting. She’s noticed the second her eyes glared up into his blue ones.

He is handsome. 

It's no secret. And that time he gave her his shirt, saving her from certain humiliation, all but confirmed her initial attraction. 

Yes, because it'd be lying to deny that she didn't fancy him from early on. It'd be lying to pretend that his gaze on her had no effect on her stance.

But she is the Home Secretary, and he is her PPO. 

He is handsome. 

It's no secret. And although it's not the sole reason why she crossed the line. Although, it's not the sole reason why she kissed him, shagged him, made love to him –

He _is_ handsome and seeing him like that, lying on the bed, almost naked safe for his pants; there is no denying it. 

So, she climbs on top of him, knees on each side of his hips, hands on each side of his face and she leans down to whisper, her mouth hovering over his:

“Are you asleep?”

The “You're the only one I trust” came out sooner than it should.

She trusts him. She does. She _does_.

But she expects him to wake and snog her. She expects him to wake and smile at her. Hell, she would even expect him to wake and whine at her disturbance. 

Instead, he wakes and it’s not a kiss he gives her. It’s not a smile nor a whine. He wakes and it’s his hands around her neck that greet her. 

She feared for a life twice too many times in the span of a month. 

The first time, she sat between front and back seat of her armoured vehicle, her driver’s blood all over her face, David’s hand, her only beacon. 

The second time is now, lying on the cold floor of a hotel room, David’s hand, this time, her executioner.

She’s never noticed it cold before. Yet, she has many a time walked around this very floor barefoot. 

She’s never noticed it cold before. Yet, as she gasps and chokes. As she claws and kicks her lover with whatever strength she has, it feels very much penetrating. Like a sharp, bitter winter wind. 

She’s crying, she thinks. Although, her blurry vision could very well be predicting the crossing to the other side. 

She’s not a believer. Her father’s dead, the world is in shambles and it’s too easy to blame it on a so-called _God_. She’s not a believer but she believes in him. She _trusts_ him. 

So, with all the energy she can muster, she calls out his name. Once. Twice. 

“David!!”

The jolt back is instant and so is her escaping, crawling towards her side of the door. She slams it shut. Locked. 

His apology is most sincere. She has no trouble hearing the horror and heartache through the words. He is ill. She knows. He needs help. She tells him as much. 

The “You're the only one I trust” came out sooner than it should. Still, she trusts him. Still, when he asks her if she’d like him to be replaced, she wants with all her heart to say “no” but sometimes “no’s” can sound like “maybes” and it breaks him. And, it breaks her.

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me”, she manages to formulate, in the hopes that he knows she’s on his side. 

There’s no answer and she keeps breaking. For him. For them. 

She has a big day ahead of her. 

There’ve been threats. There’ve been warnings. But with him by her side, she feels safe. 

She once told him; she knew he would never let anything bad happen to her. She meant it then. She means it now. But they don’t speak. They can’t speak. Not just because it’s too public for them to be Julia and David but because David almost strangled Julia to death last night and the guilt and fear is consuming them both. 

She has a big day ahead of her. 

There’ve been threats. There’ve been warnings. But she’s not worried. She’s not scared so long as he is by her side. 

She _wants_ him by her side. 

There is much to say but for now she starts with what feels most important: his children. She tells him it all. Where she came across their school’s name, why she didn’t forewarn him, the measures she took to ensure no harm would fall onto any pupil. 

There is much to say but for now she settles with a simple admission of her affection and an opening she hopes he’ll take.

As long as he is by her side – PPO, lover and more –, she knows she’s safe. 

So, she takes his hand and tells him with her heart now fully unlocked: 

“I want you right beside me, not because it’s your job, but because it’s our choice.”

Because, as long as he is by her side – PPO, lover and more –, she knows she’ll be happy.

**Author's Note:**

> NB 1: I know shit about the British Postgraduate Education, so take what I wrote lightly. It was just my interpretation of what David and later Julia said.  
> NB 2: Perhaps the most important. I hope you liked it because I loved writing it.  
> NB 3: Should I write David's POV? Maybe I will write David's POV..


End file.
